


The Union of John and Mary Winchester: a match made in heaven

by Firebog



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But I hear she gets better, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Destiny, Heaven's Favourite Pastime: Manipulation, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Not A Fix-It, Not Happy, Not a Love Story, POV John Winchester, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28400454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firebog/pseuds/Firebog
Summary: "It wasn't easy. They couldn't stand each other at first. But when we were done with them: perfect couple." —CupidSay you're John Winchester fresh home from Vietnam, and you're alright. You're fine actually. And local enigma Mary Campbell is pretty and charming and she smiled at you that one time when you walked by her on the way to the grocery store.(remember how that cupid said John and Mary were a heavenly arranged marriage? Because I sure do)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	The Union of John and Mary Winchester: a match made in heaven

**Author's Note:**

> "Perfect?"  
> "Yeah."  
> "They're dead!"

Say you're John Winchester fresh home from Vietnam, and you're alright.

You're fine actually.

You're not like some of the other men you came home with. You can sleep almost every night. You don't yell at your co-workers over trivial things. You don't have to sit in that _one_ spot at the diner. You can talk to customers like a regular guy. You only drink on weekends and you always show up on time to work on Monday.

Everything is great. You're home. You have a job. You're safe. And local enigma Mary Campbell is pretty and charming and she smiled at you that one time when you walked by her on the way to the grocery store.

You talk to her a couple of times. Your conversations are topical; socially appropriate for two strangers passing by on the street. It's nothing special. But.

But it's not awful.

It's...

It's...nice.

She seems nice.

A nice girl in a nice town talking about nice things.

Then you get to know her a little better and she's...she's... ~~nice~~ full of it.

The more you talk to her the more you realize she's ~~the one, you're gonna marry that girl~~ one of those hippy dippy bimbos that go off about the cops being bad at their jobs (one day you'll think that too but not yet), about how there's no honourable wars between humans. And what is _that_ supposed to mean anyway? As if she would know the first thing about being in a fight for her life, about _saving_ people.

You start taking a different way to the grocery store.

Except.

You can't stop thinking about her.

Maybe you just got off on the wrong foot. Maybe she had a brother who died overseas. Maybe her dad was a dirty cop that gave all cops a bad name in her eyes.

It was probably just a misunderstanding.

A week later you bump into each other outside the post office. You start out talking about the weather, twenty minutes later you're sitting down to have lunch with her while you talk about your favourite music.

It's nice. She's nice. You were right. It was all a misunderstanding.

You start walking together to the grocery store a few days a week. You talk about simple things; the weather, town gossip, movies that are coming out. It's simple in a wholesome small town kind of way. And after everything, don't you deserve a little bit of simple wholesome small town life?

This could be your life. Simple conversations with a nice girl in a wholesome small town. You don't have to think about anything you did before. You could just be the nice boy from town who marries the nice girl and live simple lives together. No fears. No pain. No more worries beyond phone bills.

Wouldn't that be nice? It sounds nice.

The more you talk to her the more the small town fantasy falls apart.

She's ~~beautiful~~ weirdly standoffish about simple things. She won't talk about her family. She won't talk about what she does in her free time. She won't talk about why she needs so many weather reports. She won't let you meet her folks.

And she's given you some mildly unsettling hints about running away from her family like she's being held prisoner.

~~But it's worth it.~~

It's all a bit more than you can chew.

Sure, she's nice but nice isn't worth whatever heap of crazy problems shes carrying around. You know you're lucky that you're not carrying around your own. You don't need someone else's.

You tell her ~~that you love her~~ you can't make it to your next walk to the grocery store together.

You don't see her for a week.

You can't stop thinking about her.

Two weeks.

You can't stop thinking about her.

A month.

You can't stop thinking about her.

It's...it's weird. She keeps popping up in your head. She thinks cops are idiots and that soldiers are wasting their time and now that you think about it, she never really seemed to laugh at your jokes. And she likes _The Beatles._ She's just another silly girl complaining about curfews and screaming at boy bands.

But.

But...

You can't stop thinking about her.

What if she's in trouble? Those hints about her home life, what if they're the only way she can ask for help? Maybe she's not just another silly girl complaining about a reasonable curfew while living under her parents' roof. Maybe her home life is horrific (you're right but you won't remember that) and she needs to get out.

Maybe she needs to be rescued.

You could do that. You've fought a war, been to hell and back. You could rescue one pretty girl from a bad home life. You're a good man. It's the honourable thing to do.

You ask her out for lunch the next day. She tells you ~~she doesn't have time~~ she's missed you and says she likes your jacket. You say you ~~didn't~~ missed her too and tell her you like how she's changed her hair.

She tells you ~~to quite talking to her~~ she's free all week and would you like to meet for lunch again?

You tell her ~~no~~ yes and ask if Wednesday is good for her.

~~It's not good for either of you.~~

You meet on Wednesday for lunch. You talk about your job. She talks about music. It's...nice. She's nice. You smile at her and she smiles back. It's ~~the worst lunch date you've ever been on~~ all picture perfect. You're a good man having lunch with a nice girl.

If you just plucked up the courage you could have this forever. You deserve that don't you? Nice meals with a nice girl who smiles at you and wants ~~you to get lost~~ to be with you.

You meet for lunch every day next week. You ~~hate ever minute of it~~ can really see yourself with this girl five years down the road. Hell, ten years— no, a life time.

On Friday your boss asks what you've been so busy doing all week at lunch break that you turn up late for work every afternoon. You tell him about her. You tell him that you ~~don't have~~ ~~a~~ ~~damn clue why you keep seeing th~~ ~~at~~ ~~girl~~ that she's the one. That you're going to marry that girl.

Everyone at work ~~says it's a bad idea~~ congratulates you. They ask you ~~why you're giving a ring to the woman you keep fighting with~~ how you'll pop the question.

You're not really sure ~~why the hell you're doing~~ ~~it~~ how you'll do it, but you'll know when the time is right.

You buy a ring on Saturday.

You come to your senses on Sunday. You don't really know this girl. You don't really get along with her. You're planning an entire life around a woman you've known for a couple of months.

You'll return the ring on Monday.

You go to sleep early. Well, you try anyway. You're up half the night. You want to sleep but...but...

You can't stop thinking about her.

You pour yourself a drink. Just to get to sleep. You won't make it a habit.

You wake up the next morning. Now that you've had a good night's rest you realize how big a mistake you were about to make.

~~You return the ring.~~

You don't return the ring.

You ask her to marry you in the impala and Mary cries ~~because you died, you died! Her dad is a psycho and he snapped your neck!~~ and says yes and you can't stop holding each other like you might die at any moment (you already did that but you don't remember).

You're engaged ~~but you don't even like her~~. You're engaged to the most beautiful woman you've ever laid eyes. You don't know ~~why you asked her~~ how you got so lucky. The way she looks at you...

But the way she looks at you.

The way she looks at everyone after her parents died in that house fire. ~~You watched her set the fire; listened to her talk about demons and drove home with an empty~~ ~~gas~~ ~~can in your trunk.~~ It's an act of god that really makes you appreciate your life. Makes you want to ~~run for the hills~~ start a family.

But—

But...

But it's not grief hiding in her eyes. ~~It's guilt.~~ It's something altogether different.. It's...it's...

~~It's a tragedy.~~

Terrifying.

There's something in her eyes that makes your dumb animal brain scratch at the walls trying to get away.

 _She's_ terrifying.

Why didn't you notice that before? Why didn't you notice the knife in her boot? Or the gun powder on her hands? Or the way she's always looking over her shoulder?

You leave in the middle of the night. You've got a bad feeling that you haven't had since you were overseas. There's a little prickle at the back of your neck (it's the ghost of fingers snapping your bones but you don't remember that). It screams: danger! danger! danger!

You get as far as the first intersection before you stop. You stare at the green light. You should go. You're supposed to go. Now is the time to go. But.

You can't stop thinking about her.

You turn the car around. You walk back inside your house. You strip down and curl up beside your beautiful fiance.

You stare at the ceiling all night.

~~What if she kills you in your sleep?~~

You can't believe you almost left over an itch on your neck. You're so damn lucky to have her. You want to bring her home to your parents. She's the good American country girl that _everyone_ wants to bring home to their parents. But you can't. Neither of you can. You share the same tragic past: parents dead too young to ever see their grandbabies.

All the more reason to start a family now.

The next morning you tell her you love her. She says she loves you. You drive to the nearest church and make it official.

You love her.

~~And she makes your skin crawl.~~

You're married for two weeks and ~~it's perfect~~ you can't stand her.

You can't stand her.

You can't stand her.

Why the hell did you ever get married?

You can't stand her.

Why did you think it was a good idea?

You can't stand her.

You argue. You fight. You leave.

Good.

It was a mistake. You should have never gotten married to her. You've got nothing in common and all you do is fight with each other.

Months go by.

You can't stop thinking about her.

And you can't stop phoning her. Why can't you stop phoning her? You don't want to be anywhere near her. You don't want to hear her voice at two in the morning. You can't stand her.

You keep phoning.

You can't stop thinking about her.

It's a Friday night when she tells you she's pregnant.

You go ~~to her place~~ home the next day.

She says ~~_I want a divorce_~~ sorry. She says it'll be better now that you've started a family.

You say ~~_is it even mine?_~~ you're sorry. You've always wanted a family.

You don't think about the months that went by. You don't wonder what she did in between, who she was with. You don't. You're starting a family. You're going to be a father.

You've always wanted to be a father. It'll be...it'll be...nice. Fulfilling. A reward.

You deserve a reward.

A reward for being a good man, a good soldier. You'll be a good father too.

~~And then it all falls apart. Monsters are real and they want you dead. They want your family dead. Your wife is in danger. Just say yes. Say yes~~

~~Say yes.~~

~~Say yes.~~

~~Say yes.~~

~~Say yes.~~

~~You say yes.~~

~~You say yes and _oh god._ Oh god, you see it all reaching back millennia and the brief flash of a future that ends in screaming and blood. You see your boys (you'll raise three, or you'll try to anyway, but you don't know that yet) and they say yes and die screaming trapped inside monsters that want to burn the world.~~

~~Everyone is going to die. You don't have a future. She doesn't have a future. Even those boys who don't exist yet, they won't have futures either. You're all going to die screaming in fire and blood.~~

The day your son is born is the happiest day of your life. You don't mind the crying and spit up that comes after. You don't mind the sleepless nights.

~~You're always tired even when you do sleep. You pour yourself a drink most nights, but just one. Just a night cap to fall asleep after a long day.~~

You have a nice house in a nice part of town.

~~Your neighbours have phoned the police on you three times in three weeks, they're worried about all the yelling.~~

You have a pretty wife.

~~But you fight with her. You fight all the time. Everything she does grates on your nerves. When she looks at you, you know she can't stand you either.~~

You have a beautiful child.

~~And when he looks at you with those eyes, you wonder. You were gone for months. You can't remember if the timing matches up.~~

It's all worth it.

~~You leave. You come back. You leave. You come back.~~

It's all so perfect.

~~You start drinking on Thursday nights. It's almost the weekend anyway. Besides, you always show up for work on time.~~

~~You fight. You leave. You come back.~~

You can't stop thinking about her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

~~Night caps and Thursday nights turn into a few drinks every night but it's fine. You always show up for work. Eventually.~~

You watch your son playing in the yard. You can't imagine how this could get any better ~~you could leave.~~

~~You could leave right now.~~

You can barely believe how fast time flies by. You've been together for years now ~~and you hate it.~~ But it seems like a blink of an eye and your son ~~is he even yours?~~ has gone from a chubby baby to a precocious toddler who's ~~too quiet~~ always laughing.

~~Why is he so quiet?~~

It's your anniversary.

~~It's not.~~

~~You can't even remember when you met her.~~

~~You can't remember why you got married.~~

~~There's so much you can't remember.~~

~~Why can't you remember?~~

It's your anniversary and you make the time for date night. Neither of you are planning on making your lives ~~worse~~ better but nine months later you've got another bundle of joy in the house.

~~You keep fighting. About everything. About nothing. You can't stand her. You can't stand each other.~~

~~You slam the door as you leave.~~

~~Why did you ever go back?~~

~~Why do you keep going back?~~

~~You don't even _like_ each other.~~

You can't stop thinking about her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

You have a drink on Friday night.

It's the weekend. You deserve it.

You have a drink on Friday night and you wake up at home in bed with your wife on Saturday morning.

Except.

~~Except it's a week later.~~

~~You feel like shit. You stumble out of bed. Your son quickly closes his door as you pass by. You drag yourself into the bathroom and turn the shower on. You can't remember the last week no matter how hard you try.~~

Your beautiful wife is making breakfast. She smiles at you. ~~She doesn't look happy.~~ You smile back. ~~You don't feel relived to be home.~~

Your son ~~hunches over his pancakes and won't look at either of you~~ smiles and asks questions about trucks.

~~You want to leave. You want to leave so badly.~~

You sit down and eat breakfast.

~~You pour a drink. You pour another. You keep pouring until your legs stop working and you can't leave. But who cares? You lost your job weeks ago. It's not like you have to be somewhere tomorrow.~~

Your second son is a joy. A perfect baby. ~~How would you know? You've been half in the bag since he was born.~~ Maybe you should have a third.

Those early weeks ~~drag~~ race by. You're ~~passed out~~ asleep in the living room when you think you hear someone screaming. You get up. It's probably nothing but you've had this itch on the back of your neck for years and you've never been able to place why.

You go upstairs.

It only takes seconds for your whole life to fall apart; burst into flames right before your eyes (and this time you'll remember).

You send your kids out on their own. You should make sure they get out first but you can't leave her behind. You can't stop thinking about her even now.

You go back in. There's nothing but an outline, a suggestion of her in flames.

You're a good man, you have to—

You have to—

There's nothing but flames.

You spend the night in a crappy motel (you'll spend the rest of your life in them, but you don't know that yet). The cops come. You try to explain. You can't explain. You don't know how to explain so that they won't take your kids. They're all you have left of her.

The cops hint that the neighbours think you did it. You don't give them anything. There was a fire. You don't know how it started. It's true but not the _truth._ The police seem satisfied. They write down some numbers and addresses of charities. They leave.

You're on your own with a baby and a four year old.

And you can't look at them without seeing her. You can't hear them without hearing her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

(you will though, just long enough to think about someone else. She won't tear your head apart but when you're with her it's like having a pretty wife and a beautiful son and you'll never be there long enough to argue, but you don't know that yet)

You can't stop thinking about her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

You bury her. What's left of her. Ashes and teeth. That's how they identified her body, the teeth.

You buried her.

She's dead.

She's dead.

She's dead but you can't stop thinking about her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so here for the implications that John Winchester was _like that_ not because he was inherently always going to be a bad father and an obsessive psycho with a side order of alcoholism but rather because when Heaven decides to slice your brain open and "suggest" you get on with your heaven-mandated destiny that you will always come away from it highly screwed up.


End file.
